Betrayal of Trust
by Dubenko Junkie
Summary: Based on the Director's cut version of Daredevil. Just why did Lisa Tazio talk to the Post and why did Wesley Owen Welch get so tangled up in a woman that would help be the undoing of The Kingpin?


**Author's Note: **This story is based on a plot bunny I had after watching the Director's Cut of Daredevil. In that version, the death of the pnly briefly seen Lisa Tazio played a much more significant role in the events that unfolded in the film. I tried to fill in the gaps with this short story. Enjoy.

**Betrayal of Trust** _by Dubenko Junkie_

_He never meant to get attached to her. It was just sex; at least in the beginning. He was a busy man and the arrangement suited his needs. No ties to bind him, just an evening here and there of pleasure and release. It was worth the money he spent, the amount considerable, for her discretion. _

_It wasn't until later, months later, that he began to let his guard down. Talk to her afterwards. Really talk to her. Unburden himself and his burdens were many. At times his lifestyle bothered him. More and more it troubled him late at night when he was alone with his conscience. It was getting harder to face himself and the things he did, things he was privy to, things he made other people do. So he began to talk to her. And then he began to fall in love._

Of late Wesley Owen Welch had nothing to do but think. There wasn't much else to occupy your days, even less to occupy your nights when you were confined to a tiny jail cell. His thoughts were rarely pleasant. Often they were full of regret and self-loathing. He had no one to blame but himself for his current predicament.

"_Someone's been talking."_

"Someone always does…" 

That snippet of conversation ran through his mind hundreds of times a day. That someone had been him. He talked. He trusted her not to repeat anything he'd said. She betrayed him. Wesley didn't blame Lisa Tazio; he understood why she fed the information to that nosey and overzealous reporter. She did it for him. For him. And that's why he had to kill her. He could still hear her crying, begging, pleading with him. When he closed his eyes he could still see her gasping for breath, crawling towards him, reaching out in desperation. He sighed and pressed his face against the cold steel bars of his prison cell. He could still feel her lifeless body in his arms as he carried her out into the street and dropped her on the filthy sidewalk.

Yes, Wesley believed he deserved to be in this hellhole for what he had done.

----

Wesley Owen Welch encountered her for the first time at a business function. She was there as an escort for one of Wilson Fisk's clients. He found the slender redhead attractive, her smile alluring. Conversation with her was far more preferable than the minute business details her date was discussing with Mr. Fisk. Wesley was giving her his full attention, knowing the outcome of the meeting before it had even begun. Fisk would get what he wanted no more, no less. That's how it always worked.

He realized that she was chatting him up and he indulged her by answering the litany of not too personal questions. What was it like working so closely to one of the most powerful men in New York? Demanding job, how did he unwind? Handsome man, surely he was seeing someone? Wesley didn't realize that she was a call girl, a prostitute until after the meeting when the haggling contractor winked at him and said that Lisa might be expensive but she was worth every penny. The look on Lisa's face spoke volumes to him. She was mortified. Wesley just gazed at her levelly and arched an eyebrow as he handed her one of his business cards.

----

Her call a few weeks later had come as a surprise. He hadn't expected to hear from her. She sounded nervous and addressed him as Mr. Welch. "It's just Wesley, and what can I do for you?" He had enquired, curiosity piqued.

"Actually, I was wondering what I could do for you, Wesley. You gave me your card so I thought that maybe you were interested—"

He interrupted her, "Maybe you should tell me why I'd be interested, Lisa? It is Lisa, correct?" He pretended to be unsure of her name. He hadn't forgotten. He hadn't forgotten what she looked like either, but he wasn't about to let the woman know.

She lived on the first floor of a five-story walk up. Apartment number one with its sickly green painted door was home to Lisa Tazio. A nice girl, if you asked her neighbors, a lot of men friends. No one openly admitted that she was part of the world's oldest profession but it was understood that those friends were of the paying sort.

Hell's Kitchen, Clinton if you wanted to be politically correct, he couldn't believe he was in such a seedy part of the city. Then again, he couldn't believe he was actually on his way to see a prostitute either. He'd never paid for sex before, never had to. Women were more than willing and sometimes all too eager to please him, not because he was particularly a great companion but because of who he was. More realistically who it was that he worked for. Power was a turn on, so were danger and fear. Working for Wilson Fisk provided plenty of all three.

Wesley was a busy man and he no longer wanted to waste the time playing foolish games with women who wanted a chance to be near Fisk, no longer wanted what amounted to the crime lord's cast offs. Maybe Lisa Tazio could provide the one thing he was interested in without the strings attached. He was going to find out.

He let himself into the old apartment building and knocked on her door. Wesley was curious to see how the other, lesser side of society lived. His musings were cut short as the door opened and Lisa greeted him with a smile.

"Hello Mr. Welch, Wesley. Come in." She looked completely different than she had at their first encounter. Gone was the red hair; in its place was a mane of dirty blonde curls that fell to her shoulders. Gone too, were the delicate jewelry and the expensive evening gown she had worn. Now she was wearing a simple sweater, its sleeves pushed up to the elbow and a pair of black slacks. The casual look suited her.

Wesley was surprised at how small the woman's living space actually was. Fisk's office was easily twice as large, even his own office seemed more spacious. Regardless of its size, the place was neat, clean and pleasantly furnished. An eclectic ensemble of furniture and lamps dominated the sitting room; a diminutive kitchen was just to the other side of the entranceway beyond that he supposed were the bedroom and bath.

He noticed that she was watching him as he studied his surroundings. Wesley gave her a half smile and quirked his eyebrows at her. "You look…different than I remember."

Lisa laughed. It was a soft gentle sound. "Wigs, make-up, clothes…it's amazing how easy it is to change your appearance. This is me though, what I look like everyday. Do you prefer red heads, Wesley?"

Her tone was teasing, yet he knew her inquiry was serious. "I've never really thought much about it," he answered her honestly.

She moved closer to him and placed her hands on his chest, "Why don't you think about it now? What you like, what you want…how you want me." Her voice was deeper now, huskier. Sexier. She stood on tiptoes and placed a seductive kiss on the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Wesley decided right then that Lisa would suit his needs perfectly. She was attractive even without the trappings of her trade, she didn't waste time and she smelled so good when she pressed herself against him like that. The evening was spent with the two of them getting better acquainted and Wesley showing her just what he wanted.

----

They were in bed, Lisa was laying across his chest, his arms wrapped around her keeping her close, their legs tangled together in the sheets. Wesley enjoyed holding her this way, she felt good. Soft and warm, safe. She never asked anything of him; if he wanted to talk she listened. He held her for a long time before saying anything. Then it was as if a dam burst somewhere inside of his chest and he just needed to let it out.

"Do you ever just feel trapped by the choices you've made in life? Decisions and consequences that you'd change if you could?" He spoke softly, one hand traveling up into her long dirty blonde hair. Her real hair, not one of those ridiculous wigs she wore for other clients.

"Mmm? No, why?" She sounded sleepy.

"Sometimes I wish things were just different. That I didn't know the things that I know. The people I know. The things I do." He continued to play with her hair, twisting it around his fingers.

"Hard day at the office?" She tried to sound sympathetic, but couldn't mask the urge to yawn.

"That's one way of putting it." He looked down at her and thought carefully about his next words. "I had to…terminate someone today."

Lisa placed several soft kisses across his bare chest while making sympathetic noises. "I'm sorry honey. It must be awful to have to play the bad guy. The hatchet man."

Wesley gave a wane half smile, "I didn't use a hatchet."

"It's just and expression."

"I…used a gun." His fingers tightened in her hair.

"Very funny." More kisses, this time across his collarbone.

"I'm serious."

"Sure you are, tough guy." Then she kissed his lips, ending the conversation for some time.

----

Wesley knew he was early, but that particular day's work had been grueling and grossly unpleasant. He just wanted to unwind. Relax and let go. He wanted, no needed, to be with Lisa. She always made him feel better. Made it somehow okay, these things he did.

He knew she was fond of fresh flowers so he had stopped at a street side vender and purchased a bouquet of lilies. Never roses. He hated them. Their perfumed blossoms were making him a bit nauseous; their scent was strong, heady. He juggled the flowers as he opened the door to her building. Once inside he paused at her door. He heard voices, hers and another deeper and angry sounding.

Lisa wasn't alone. Jealousy crept up on him, clawed at him, and coiled itself in the pit of his stomach. She was his. No, he argued with himself, she wasn't. You just want her to be. She should be. Why shouldn't she? Because she's a prostitute. You pay her for her time and affection. Others do the same. A lot of others, do you even know how many?

The voices inside the apartment grew louder and he could hear Lisa arguing. She was saying _no, stop it get off of me. That hurts._ Wesley could hear the fear in her voice and it angered him. It angered him more when he heard the distinct sound of an open hand connecting with flesh. Dropping the flowers and grabbing the doorknob Wesley threw his weight against the flimsy wood. It gave way easily and he found himself looking at a scene that made his blood boil.

Lisa, dressed in a filmy outfit that hid none of her graceful body and a long blonde wig, was pressed up against the far wall, her hands held above her head. A tall dark haired man was pinning her there with his broad shouldered body, one hand poised to strike her again.

Wesley very quietly, calmly spoke. "Let go of her now. Leave."

Lisa looked at him, tears running down her face. One cheek already showing signs of an ugly bruise, "Wesley."

"Shut up, bitch. He can wait his turn. Stupid whore. Double booking these days, are you? Really slutting it up. Trash." The broad shouldered man continued to verbally assault her, not paying attention to Wesley. Not until he felt the cold hard barrel of a gun pressed into the small of his back.

"I said let go of her. And leave. Now." His voice was as hard as the steel in his hand.

"Whatever. The tramp isn't worth a bullet. You want her, have her." He threw a wad of green bills at Lisa, "This fuck's on me. Enjoy." Grabbing his shirt and jacket the bigger man left, swearing under his breath, slamming the door loudly.

She stood there, body trembling, staring at Wesley. At the gun in his hand. Fear shone in her wide dark eyes. "Wesley." Her voice was a mere whisper, barely audible over the blood that was pounding in his ears.

He sat the gun on a nearby table and took out a white silk handkerchief from his pocket. "Come here." It sounded harsh to his own ears; he took a deep breath and repeated the request in a gentler tone. "Come here, Lisa."

In her stocking feet the top of her head came just to the bottom of Wesley's chin, she tucked herself against his shoulder and began to cry in earnest. He tried to soothe her in the awkward embrace, using his handkerchief to dab at the smeared and ruined makeup on her face.

"Shhh. You're all right. I'm here now. It's all right." He could smell the other man's scent on her and it revolted him. "Who is he, Lisa? I want his name. His address." He was going to make sure that the guy never laid hands on her again.

----

"You look ridiculous in that. Cheap. Like a prostitute." Wesley wasn't in a charitable mood.

"Imagine that, a whore who looks the part." She looked stung.

"Don't say that. You aren't a whore." He hated the word. It was so vulgar, base.

"Aren't I? Isn't that exactly what I am?" She stood before him in a sequined gown, heavy make up and too much jewelry. Her makeup and hair were just as tawdry as her clothing.

"You don't have to be and you know it." He countered.

"And just what do you want me to do, Wesley? Maybe I should ask Mr. Fisk for a job? Join the typing pool?" She turned her back to him.

"Stop it. You sound like a fool."

"Great so now I'm a cheap, stupid whore. Can we just get this over with?"

Wesley came up behind her and took her by the elbow, turning her around. "Get it over with? Is that all I am to you? Am I just another paying client, one that tips well? Am I?" Now it he who was hurt.

"No. You know better than that. You, you're everything. Everything I've always ever wanted. Everything I know I'll never have except for a few short hours every week. I hate knowing that. I hate it Wesley." She wiped furiously at her eyes, preventing tears from ruining carefully applied liner and mascara.

He studied her for a moment, his eyes never leaving her face. "Take it off. All of it."

"What?"

"The make up. Wash it off. I want to see your face. I like your face. Take off that damned wig. You have beautiful hair." He reached up to place a hand at her neck, "Take off this ridiculous costume jewelry. You should be wearing the real thing, not this fake garbage."

"Wesley—"

"Take off this gown. It's too loud. Too distracting. You should wear something subtle, graceful that flatters your beautiful body. Something simple and understated that showcases your figure, not the other way around." He reached up and wiped the thick red lipstick from her mouth with his handkerchief before placing a soft gentle kiss on her lips. He smiled up at her, "And take off those damned heels so that I can look into your beautiful eyes when I kiss you."

She did as he asked, disappearing into her room to change, into the bathroom to scrub her face. When she returned, Wesley was sitting on her couch, jacket off, tie loosed. "There. That's who I want. Lisa. Just Lisa." He smiled at her and held out a hand, "Come here."

Wearing a simply silk robe, her hair loose and her hair falling down her back, Lisa settled into his lap. "Wesley…what are we doing?" She searched his face, looking for answers.

"Spending time together. Just spending time together." He pulled her close for a kiss. "I love you."

"I know."

----

The sun had barely begun to rise as Wesley straightened his suit jacket and combed his hair in the tiny bathroom of Lisa's apartment. He had once again spent the night, having fallen asleep after an evening of passionate lovemaking. Rarely could he bring himself to just leave after one of their appointments, it felt like he was abandoning her. Instead he chose to sneak out in the early morning light while she slept peacefully. For some reason the daylight made it all right for him to leave her, to his way of thinking.

Wesley was in the process of leaving a folded wad of cash on her nightstand when Lisa sat up and looked at him. "Leaving without a goodbye? Again?" Her sleep-heavy voice carried across the room.

"I didn't want to wake you." Wesley sat on the bed and leaned towards her for a kiss. "Last night was amazing, as always. I'll call you."

She pulled away from him before he could press his lips to hers. "Wesley, stay. Please?"

"I can't. I have to be at work, Lisa. Mr. Fisk expects me there on time. As appealing as getting back into bed with you is, right now I just can't. Let me kiss you so I can leave."

"What? You aren't allowed to call in sick?"

"I'm not sick."

"Personal day?"

"No notice, I can't leave Mr. Fisk in a lurch like that."

"Emergency?"

"Somehow I don't think Mr. Fisk will consider my desire to get laid an emergency."

"Sometimes I feel like there are three of us in this relationship. You me and Mr. Fisk." She was pouting now.

"Our _arrangement_," he emphasized the word, "is between just the two of us, Lisa. I'd like to keep it that way. If Mr. Fisk ever found out…well let's just say that I prefer that he not find out, all right?" Just thinking about it made Wesley feel ill.

"Are you embarrassed by me, Wesley? Is that it? Am I just your dirty little secret? The skeleton in your closet that you don't want your boss to know about?" She looked crest fallen, dejected at the thought.

"No. Never. Lisa, you don't understand. Wilson Fisk is a very powerful man—"

"You are his right hand, what's he going to do to you? Fire you?"

"No. No he wouldn't fire me. Lisa, can we talk about this later? I have to go."

"Just go." She reached over and picked the money up off the nightstand. "Wesley? You forgot something." When he tilted his head at her in question Lisa placed the folded bills in the breast pocket of his jacket. "I don't want your money."

"Lisa—"

"You're going to be late, remember?" She gently nudged him off the bed with her bare foot.

As he left her small apartment Wesley couldn't help but think about what Lisa had said. Wilson Fisk most definitely was a third party in their relationship. One that Wesley had no idea how to excise. He wasn't embarrassed by his relationship with Lisa, not in the least. If he had his way he'd put an end to her business and move her away from Hell's Kitchen. If he had his way Fisk would have no bearing on his life, their lives.

As it stood, Wesley was powerless to change their relationship. Fisk would never abide by his chief executive and number one go to man publicly admitting to being involved with a prostitute, reformed or not. Bad for business. And if it was bad for business it generally meant it was bad for your health when it came to the Fisk Corporation. Wesley refused to put Lisa in danger, to give Fisk any more leverage against him.

Keeping their affair hidden, his affection for her secret was the only way Wesley knew to protect her. He wasn't a stupid man, but in the same vein he wasn't a brave one either. Not when it came to dealing with Fisk.

----

_Is this what it would be like if we could have a normal relationship?_ Wesley thought to himself as he sat on the sofa in Lisa's apartment. It was a Friday evening and they were curled up together under a throw blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced between them and an old Hepburn/Tracy movie on the television set. To an outside observer the pair would look like any other couple enjoying the start of the weekend. In reality they were merely playing at being average ordinary people.

He was watching Lisa while she watched the scripted romance unfold on screen. Her long dark blonde hair lying loose across her shoulders and he wanted to tangle his hands in that wild mane. Instead he settled for taking another handful of the greasy micro waved popcorn while mentally calculating how long he was going to have to spend on the elliptical trainer to burn off the unwanted calories.

Wesley prided himself on his appearance, he enjoyed staying fit and well groomed, pressed suits and manicured hands were the norm. His hair was usually well coifed, highlighted and carefully styled not a strand out of place. His current state of dress, jeans and an old sweatshirt, his hair tousled and mussed was at odds with his standard self-image. He felt awkward and somewhat insecure. Image was everything to Wesley Owen Welch. Image conveyed so much: strength, weakness, fear even social ranking in his eyes. He felt…ordinary.

As if she felt his unease, Lisa looked over at him and smiled. "Hey handsome, are you even watching the movie?"

"No. I was looking at you. And thinking."

"Like what you see?" She grinned.

"Always." He gave her one of his devastating smiles in return.

"Care to tell me what you were thinking about?"

"No. But if you'll turn off the television, I'll gladly show you."

They spent the remainder of the night in bed, wrapped around each other, enjoying the feel of warm skin and the taste of sweat covered flesh. She was beautiful, Wesley thought to himself as moved above her, within her. So beautiful. He never wanted this to end and he knew that was exactly why it had to. He loved her, wanted her, and he needed her. He couldn't have her. Not the way he wanted to, not if he wanted to keep her safe.

He had made up his mind earlier that day: he was going to end their relationship once and for all. They had gone so far across the boundary of client and mistress that they'd never be able to go back, not that he wanted to. He'd rather not have her at all if he had to settle for that. No, it was better this way, in the long run. She was safer without him in her life, so was he. She was his vulnerable spot. More than anything he feared that Fisk would find out and use her against him. Hurt her. Kill her if he stepped out of line in the least little way.

Wesley collapsed on top of her, spent and breathing heavily. He smiled sadly against her neck as he felt Lisa running her fingers through his hair, her foot sliding along the back of his leg. He was going to miss this. Miss her.

"Lisa"

"Mmm. I love you, Wesley." She all but purred in his ear. "I love you."

He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at what he was about to do. Rolling over, Wesley propped himself up on one elbow so that he was looking down at Lisa. She automatically moved closer to snuggle up against his chest. He didn't have it in himself to move away again.

"Lisa, we need to talk. Please stop that and look at me when I'm speaking to you." He sounded curt, commanding. It was the way he spoke to those individuals in his employ. Lisa had started kissing his torso and running her fingers along his side and it was distracting him. He couldn't concentrate with her touching him that way.

"What's wrong, Wesley? I thought you liked it when I kissed you?" She smiled playfully before dipping her head to kiss his chest yet again.

This time Wesley did push her away, albeit gently. "I said stop that and look at me, damn you."

Her eyes wide, Lisa looked at him, mouth agape.

"Close your mouth you look like a simpleton. Just listen. Be still for once and listen to me. It's over. We're over. I no longer require your services, such as they were. You are not to contact me in any way, shape or form. I want you out of my life. Do you understand me?" As he spoke he got up from the bed and reached for his clothes.

"Wesley! What's wrong with you? Why are you being this way? Why are you doing this? Why—" She was babbling and on the verge of tears. He could see it in her face; hear it in her voice. It broke his heart.

"I know you aren't deaf or stupid. You heard what I said. It's over. Save the sniveling and tears until after I'm gone. I don't have time for it." He hated how cruel he sounded. Loathed what he was doing to her. He didn't mean a word of it.

He finished dressing and pulled out his money clip. "I'm sure this will ease your pain considerably. I think I'm being more than adequately generous here." He left a stack of bills on her dresser and walked out of the room, forcing himself to ignore the sounds of her crying.

"I'm so sorry, Lisa. And I love you too." He said quietly in the small lobby of her building as he shut the apartment door. "It's for your own good, Lisa. Maybe you'll understand that someday and forgive me."

----

It was several weeks before Wesley heard anything from Lisa Tazio, and even then it was indirect. He was sitting in his office reading the morning papers, as was part of his daily routine. A bold headline made his blood run cold. The Kingpin of Crime—Man or Myth? Wesley quickly scanned the article, the cold fist of fear hitting him in the gut. His own words, words he spoke only to one other person, Lisa, jumped off the page. Everything. It was all there in black and white. The dirty deals, the bribes and back room bargains, the corruption and scams, the murders and money.

Wesley brought a trembling hand to his face, covering his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and swore. She went to The Post. The New York Post. To that Weasel Ulrich. Lisa had betrayed him in the worst possible way. Fisk would figure it out easily enough; he knew the man was clever. He had to take care of this, and now. He had to silence Lisa before she said anything else damning. Before Fisk silenced him instead.

Picking up his phone Wesley made the first of many hurried calls. "Lisa, it's Wesley. I, I changed my mind. I need to see you. Soon. Tomorrow. You may as well clear your schedule for the night. I'm sorry for everything, baby. I do love you." He knew she'd do as he asked. She trusted him.

The rest of the calls he had to make were more difficult. He arranged for several of Fisk's more malleable goons to meet him behind Lisa Tazio's building the following evening, a drug dealer in the neighborhood was to sell some particularly potent merchandise to a scumbag and baby sit him until he passed out, and lastly Detective Mackenzie was to fix the pending crime scene and make the arrest.

Hanging up the phone after his conversation with the detective Wesley went directly to his executive washroom and proceeded to throw up that morning's bagel and coffee. When he could do nothing more than shake and dry heave he splashed cold water on his face and straightened his tie. He forced himself to calm down as he went about his day, business as usual.

He knocked on her door, took a deep breath to steady himself and waited. He couldn't believe that he was going to go through with this. He had no choice. _You have a choice, you coward. _Wesley ignored that inner voice, knowing it was right. He had no choice.

"Wesley!" Lisa was smiling at him, none of the hurt or anger he expected to see was present. No, she was genuinely happy to see him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I've missed you. I've been going out of my mind crazy wondering where you were, what was wrong…why you left the way you did. Don't you ever do that to me again. Ever." She kissed him once more.

"I won't. I promise." He starred at her, meaning what he said but not for any reason she'd ever fathom.

She was wearing a red tube top and a pair of black pants, her hair pulled back from her face. Some silly plastic bangles around her wrists that made noise as she moved around the room. Typical Lisa. Hell's Kitchen chic is what she called it. Fashion faux pas is how Wesley categorized the look.

"I was getting changed when you knocked. I'll just be a few minutes." She turned to leave but Wesley reached out and grabbed her arm roughly.

"Don't bother." He turned her towards him, his expression angry.

"Playing rough tonight?" She grinned.

"I'm not playing Lisa. Not playing at all. I know what you did. What I want to know is why." He shoved her hard, up against the wall.

"Wesley! What are you doing?" She gasped.

"Why did you do it, Lisa? Why The Post? I trusted you." He searched her face; desperate for any answer he could find to spare her.

"I—I did it for you, Wesley. You left. You didn't want to talk to me, see me. I didn't believe that for a moment. I know you're scared of Fisk finding out about us. So I thought—I thought that if he were gone, in jail, you wouldn't have to worry any more. We could be together. The way we've always talked about. I wouldn't have to—I wouldn't have to keep up the clientele anymore, you wouldn't have to worry. I did it for you. For us." Lisa moved towards him, hugged him again and tried to kiss his lips. "I love you."

Wesley just stared at the woman in his arms. For him. She did it for him. She had no idea what she'd done. Even after everything he'd told her, she somehow failed to grasp just how dangerous Wilson Fisk was. How far his influence reached. Or worse, she assumed that Wesley would protect her. He groaned. Angry at her foolishness, angry at his own stupidity he shoved Lisa again, this time sending her sprawling to the hardwood floor.

She stared at him in shock, and then she saw him pull his gun out from under his suit jacket. "Oh God! Don't hurt me!" She scrambled to her feet and threw herself at him again, pleading. "Please, Wesley, don't hurt me!"

He grunted as he threw her to the floor and aimed at her chest.

"Don't shoot me! Oh God! I didn't do anything! Please don't!"

He pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang in his ears as the recoil from the weapon surged through his arm. He heard her gasp, knew he had hit her. The gun fell from his hand with a sickening thud.

She was on her stomach now, blood beginning to pool beneath her body. Lisa reached up to him, her face twisted in agony. She was gasping for breath and trying to beg for help. Wesley simply backed up further. He didn't want her to touch him. He tried to project that cold arrogant persona he portrayed to the world at large. He worked for Wilson Fisk and he was tougher than this. Only Wesley knew he wasn't.

"Wesley, please—" She managed to gasp.

That was all it took for Wesley to move, to change his mind. He was on the floor beside her, pulling her into his arms. Gathering her close. "Lisa. Shhh. Oh Lisa, I'm sorry. It's all right, baby. It'll be all right." His voice trembled as he smoothed her hair out of her face, as he kissed her forehead. "Hang on Lisa. I'm going to get help. Shhh. I'm sorry."

It took him a moment to realize that she had already stopped breathing. Her heart had stopped beating. She died in his arms as he was trying to soothe her. Wesley bit back an anguished cry as he sat there; her warm blood soaking through is clothing.

In the distance he heard the police sirens. Knowing there was nothing he could do for her now, Wesley opted to carry through with his original plan. Cradling her to his chest, he staggered into a standing position and carried Lisa's body outside. Out into the muggy summer night air and into the alley behind her building. Waiting for him were Fisk's men and a passed out junkie.

Wesley sent the goons back to Lisa's apartment to get the gun he had dropped. He didn't want them to see the gentle, loving way he laid her on the ground. The way he pressed his lips to hers one last time. Didn't want them to hear him murmur the words I love you.

When they returned Wesley had them stage the crime scene and then stick around as convenient witness for the cops. He was going back inside to clean up the mess. He didn't want anyone else to handle her things. He didn't want those lowlifes in her home. He didn't want any of Fisk's filth in the place where they'd made love. _Then why are you going back in there? _He couldn't help but ask himself.

Taking off his jacket and tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves and swearing to himself Wesley carefully mopped up the blood of his former lover. His Lisa. The strong smell of the ammonia burned his eyes, his lungs. He no longer had the will power to hold back the tears. He cried for her. He cried for himself. He cried for what could have been if only he was able to be the man Lisa had thought he was.

Wesley went to the hall closet and removed a tan throw rug from the back of the small space. Only a few weeks before he had helped Lisa roll the carpet up and stow it there. She wanted to enjoy the cool feeling of the hard wood floors now that the summer heat was upon them. Carefully, he unrolled the rug and covered the spot on the floor where her blood had discolored the wood. He wiped down the tables and counters, everything he could think of, and straightened the room until it looked just right. The way Lisa kept it.

Before leaving Wesley walked through the apartment one last time. He stood at the foot of her bed remember the first time he had lain there, the last time--every time in between. On her dresser there was an envelope with his name on it. Curious, he picked it up and looked inside. It was the money he had left her several weeks ago. _I don't want your money, Wesley. _It had been months, nearly a year since she had let him pay for the time they spent together. To him the money was nothing, to her not accepting it made their relationship solid, real. Unlike the meaningless encounters she had with clients.

He put the envelope in his pants pocket and walked out of the room. He stopped at her desk and looked at the picture sitting there. She was smiling. It looked like she was smiling right at him. Turning away, Wesley picked up his jacket and tie then walked out of the apartment for the last time.

----

Wesley was lying on the bunk in his cell, staring at the cinderblock ceiling. He could hear Fisk in the cell over. He was laughing. Again. That deep ominous chuckle. It sent chills down Wesley's spine every time he heard it.

"You're awfully quiet in there, Wesley. What's the matter? Missing your girlfriend?"

Wesley didn't answer. The taunts were always the same. Subtle threats. Fisk knew everything now. Lisa, his plea bargain, everything. It all came out during the trial that landed them both here at Riker's. Wesley knew his days were numbered. Fisk may have been suffering from two broken knees and a lengthy prison sentence but there were countless flunkies willing to do anything to garner the crime lord's good favor. Wesley knew that even if he managed to survive until his parole came up, he'd never be out from under Fisk's grasp. Yes, his days were numbered.

There was a time when the thought of his impending death would have terrified him. Now Wesley almost welcomed it. The release from his pain, the guilt and anguish over Lisa Tazio. That would all end. Some days, Wesley thought it couldn't end soon enough. He continued to stare at the ceiling as he thought about death, Lisa's and his own. He wondered if there was an afterlife. If there even was a heaven and a hell. He wondered if he'd be with Lisa again. At that thought, Wesley Owen Welch smiled. It was the only thing that could make him do so anymore.


End file.
